My Brown Eyed Girl

She is tall, super thin, but beautiful. Her skin is the color of creamy mocha coffee. She wears her black hair short and glossy. Her glasses are modern and big for her fine features. The left lens is cracked from a fight. She refuses to get it replaced. She has on skinny jeans and a tight t-shirt. She walks slowly in her high top tennis shoes. She is not in a hurry to go anywhere.

But when she speaks, she is thoughtful, witty and sharp. She listens to everything I say, taking it in and turning it over in her mind. She responds confidently to my questions. She does not hide any piece of herself.

She believes in the rapture.

She is in a gang. They are her family.

She could do anything she wants with her life. She could go to college. She would excel in law school. She would be a wonderful, wise mother.

When she walks into the room, I pray for her. Open your eyes, I say. When she leaves, I pray again. Don’t go, I say.

Certifiable

Depression. It’s what my doctor calls it. Weakness. Lies. Laziness. Others have called it these things. I have been depressed since I can remember. Each day I am sad, impulsive, tired and weak. I am trapped in a body with limitations. My better judgment arrested. My heart vulnerable.

My mind is convinced that these limitations are of my own doing. I can overcome them if I try hard enough, it says. Do more, act happier; be more dedicated, it commands. I try and try.
My body laughs at my mind for thinking such foolishness. There is nothing I can do to overcome the depression. It weighs me down like a two ton anchor. It lassos my brain and chokes it. I cannot reason the depression away. I cannot will it to end.

I see doctors. More doctors than I care to admit. I pray that the next one will know what to do. They are kind, honest people, who cannot help me. I hope for a magic drug that will restore me to a proper and functioning adult. I hope and hope.

No one believes me. Not my husband. Certainly not my bosses. Not my friends. Sometimes not even myself. No one knows how desperate I am to be believed. To be cared for instead of criticized.

I have children. Beautiful, lively, innocent children. I want to be more for them. I want to offer them all I had as a child. But, at times I am trapped, too burdened, even for them. My body is gelatin. My energy drained. So, I watch them play. I hire help. It is not enough.

I am left to wonder: will they know this illness, too? I pray not. The thought haunts me. Do these genes course through their veins? I pray and pray.

power of positive thinking

I am strong. I am confident. I am talented. I am popular. I am content. I am beautiful. I am successful. I am alluring. I am bold. I am wealthy. I am satisfied. I am a magnet for good things. I am lucky. I am jovial. I am creative. I am rich. I am blessed. I am admired. I am resourceful. I am trendy. I am stunning. I am fortunate. I am tough. I am positive. I am at ease. I am triumphant. I am free. I am interesting. I am outgoing. I am adventurous. I am chic. I am capable. I am powerful. I am witty. I am well-traveled. I am intelligent. I am crafty. I am smooth. I am worldly. I am mysterious. I am conscientious. I am brave. I am accomplished. I am loved. I am loving. I am generous. I am faithful. I am kind. I am sweet. I am saucy. I am exotic. I am…

The Higher You Climb

Yesterday, I would have told you I was blessed. Today, it occurs to me that I am cursed.

On Second Thought

Regret is like a sneaker wave. I am never looking for it, it comes when I least expect it and it drowns me, leaving me sad and sorry for much longer than I would like. I spend a lot of my time thinking about regret. I remember a girl I went to high school once saying “I don’t want to live my life with regret.” She was beautiful, sweet, and the prom queen. So of course I thought, "Yes, me too. I also don’t want regret." Except, I don’t know how to live without it. I don’t know how to avoid it. And I seem to welcome it into my life over and over again.

“If only…” becomes my mantra. My dreams are of whole other lives. I wish upon stars. I slave over my horoscope. I do all of this with the hope that somehow, some person or being or spirit will intervene and rescue me from this life I continue to regret.

I regret decisions instantly and continue to steep in regret until it is so strong, it is nearly unbearable.  I regret purchases. I regret romances. I regret hairstyles. I regret job choices. I regret my geography. I regret friendships--those I made and friendships I did not make. I regret being too honest. I regret lies. I regret indulging. I regret limiting. I regret hurt. I regret joy.

Tonight, I regret. I wonder why I didn’t think about this before. I wonder why I thought this would be different than the other times. I worry that I will never make anything of myself. I am concerned that my poor decision making in the past will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I wonder if I will regret posting this…

Brave New Girl

I had never done this before. I was positive that I was making a fool of myself. Each time I glanced up from my notebook, I caught his eye. The first few times, I thought it a coincidence. After the fourth, I realized he was looking at me. Now, my eyes couldn’t help but wander to his. I took him in. He looked nice, clean, sane. His eyes were dark, almost a chocolate, or at least I thought so from my seat across the room.

I decided to smile. I would smile the next time I looked up at him. Yes. I would try not to blush. I would smile and see if he would come say hello, maybe buy me another cup of coffee. Or at least smile back.

I took a deep breath and stared intently at my notebook. I prepared myself for the newer, more confident me. I would do it. In the next ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven…two, one. I raised my eyes. I tossed my hair as I attempted to appear confident and alluring. I stared boldly in his direction with a flirty smirk.

His seat was empty. He was gone.

Pants on Fire

Today I lied to the store clerk. “I grew up on the coast,” I said. “We ate fish all the time.”

In truth, I grew up thousands of miles from either coast. The first time I had shrimp, I was in sixth grade and was having dinner at the neighbors. I thought it chewy and somewhat alien.

Why lie, then? Why deceive someone I will likely never see again and have absolutely no reason to impress?

I have no answers. It is just part of my fabric, I guess. I am a liar. Lies: They roll off my tongue. They come naturally and easily. They set me apart from my miserable, average self.

Perhaps the person I am trying to impress is me. But, perhaps that too is just a lie.